The Parisian Problem
by SamClark101
Summary: Sherlock and Watson are having a well deserved break in Paris, when the Eiffel Tower disappears!


The Parisian Problem

"Bonjour!"

Sherlock Holmes groaned and hid his throbbing head further under the thick feather pillows which, although incredibly comfortable, were completely ineffective against the roar of the Paris traffic under his hotel room window. Needless to say, they were also useless against his friend, Dr John Watson's, infuriating cheeriness.

The good doctor had prescribed a fortnight's holiday after the peculiar stresses of their last case 'The Pickled Piper' had left consulting detective Holmes an even more jumbled bag of nerves than usual.

Two weeks in Paris had done the trick marvellously. They had walked every square inch of that magnificent city: out to La Defence; out the opposite direction to the Bastille; up Sacre Coeur and Notre Dame; and even down into the sewers, to mention just a few of their excursions.

Holmes' manic energy had finally been used up and he seemed at peace with the world.

Watson flung the balcony doors open wide, breathed in the traffic fumes and looked down at the busy Rue de Rivoli below. Then, moving his gaze upwards he stared out at the magnificent view as he had every morning of their holiday. Panning from left to right, he could see the Louvre, Tuillerie Gardens, Le grand Palais, then finally the majestic Eiffel Tower…

"It's gone!"

Holmes wrapped himself tighter in his duvet, trying to shut out the outside world. Watson shook him roughly. "Sherlock! It's gone! The Eiffel Tower has disappeared!"

Holmes groaned, "Remind me again why we don't have separate rooms…"

"You know perfectly well that the hotel claim to never have received our reservation and only had this twin room left. Now, get up Sherlock! This is serious. The Eiffel Tower has vanished in the night!"

Holmes got to his feet groggily, duvet wrapped around his otherwise naked body. "How much red wine did I have last night?"

"Three bottles of Brouilly. You said you'd never had chilled red wine before. I don't suppose you remember singing La Marseillaise all the way back along the street and up the stairs? No? I didn't think so. Now, look. Can you see that it has gone?"

"What's gone?"

"The Eiffel Tower! God, Sherlock, for one so bright, you can be incredibly dim at times."

"Where is it?"

"I… don't… know…! That's… the… point…!"

"No, no, no. I mean, where should it be?"

"Over there on the right."

Holmes narrowed his bloodshot eyes and squinted out into the bright Spring sunshine. "That big pointy tower shaped thing?"

"I would have thought that the image of the Eiffel Tower is plastered across this city so much that even you couldn't miss it. We climbed it only yesterday, for God's sake. All six hundred and seventy-four steps up to the second level."

Holmes squinted again. "I see it. What's the problem? Are you winding me up, John? It's not April 1st is it?"

Watson inhaled deeply. It really was like dealing with a child sometimes. He would be glad to get back to Baker Street and have some space again. He was fed up being a nanny.

Storming away from the window, he switched on the television. A picture of the Eiffel Tower was on the screen, and underneath it the single word, 'Disparu!" The voices of the presenters were talking so fast that he could barely make out a single word.

Holmes looked at the screen, then at Watson, then out the window, then finally at his watch. "Seven a.m. on Saturday, twenty-first April, 2012. This is not all an elaborate April fool's joke then? John, are you really telling me you can't see it?"

They both squeezed onto the narrow balcony, staring out at the view. It really was a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky. Holmes pointed out the way the Eiffel Tower was shining resplendently like a beacon, but Watson was blind to it still.

All around them, heads were poking out of windows and gesturing at the missing landmark. All except one woman, who was staring at Holmes with a lascivious grin. Watson followed her gaze then tutted loudly. "Sherlock! Your duvet has fallen off. Will you please put some pants on?"

"Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said."

Back in the room, the excited French babbling coming from the television was becoming more and more hysterical. As well as flashing up pictures of the Tower, it was now also showing the empty spot where the Tower used to be, interspersed with clips of children weeping over the bodies of birds and pet dogs.

"Let's get over there." Holmes was finally dressed and ready to go.

"But our train leaves in two hours."

"Get Mrs Hudson to pack up our belongings and meet us at the Gare du Nord with our suitcases. Problem solved."

Watson sighed and raised a long-suffering eyebrow.

"She did come with us?" Holmes was having a rare moment of doubt.

Watson shook his head sadly.

"But I was talking to her last night, at that Bistro?"

"I had, and still have for that matter, no earthly idea who that woman was you were so engrossed with yesterday evening. All I know is that you both spent the evening discussing the French economy, and how the president could possible afford all the money he is spending on the current election campaign. It was", he yawned theatrically, "riveting."

The two men stared at each other. Holmes looking perplexed while Watson was barely managing to conceal his pleasure at having got one up on his highly intelligent friend. Watson finally broke the silence, "Look, if we pack up now, we can order a cab to pick us up here at eight. That will give us plenty of time to get there and back."

"Allons-y then."

Getting to the Eiffel Tower proved to be not quite as easy as anticipated. The road was gridlocked, horns were blaring and the hordes of people gathered round the top of the Metro station sent out a strong signal that that route was closed to them too. They would have to walk.

Holmes strode off, his long legs carrying him at a faster pace than was comfortable for Watson. Jogging beside him, Watson asked the million-dollar question, "What's it all about, Sherlock?"

Holmes was too busy checking the BBC news website on his smartphone to reply at first. Watson amused himself by kicking through piles of the many thousands of leaflets littering the ground. All bore a beaming portrait of the French president.

"The police have set up a cordon around the tower; no one is allowed within a mile of it. Fools! How do you people survive in life?"

"I often wonder that myself," grumbled Watson sarcastically then, forcing himself to sound upbeat, "Can we use Mycroft's ID to get us through the cordon?"

"No need." Holmes stopped suddenly, lay down on the ground and sniffed it suspiciously. "I just want to get close enough to inspect a puddle."

"A puddle? But it hasn't rained all week."

"That's the genius of it."

The footpaths were getting busier, and they were having to weave their way in and out of the heaving crowd, which were themselves weaving in and out of the stationary cars. Drivers were leaving their vehicles and it seemed like the whole city was walking zombie-like towards the missing monument.

After a few hundred yards they could go no further. They looked around and spotted a small gap in the crowd to their left. Holmes elbowed his way through to a puddle where two pigeons lay dying. He bent down, adjusted his collar in the crystal clear reflection, and smiled.

Taking a test tube out of his cavernous coat pockets, he dipped it in the water, stoppered it, and then held it up to the light. "Well, Watson? Your conclusions?"

"Emmm, well… should we try and get closer to the tower?"

But Holmes had already turned and was striding back towards the hotel. Watson hurried after him. "But shouldn't we investigate?"

"Case solved."

"But, what about the tower?"

"Ooooh… I estimate that the missing tower will return in approximately ten seconds." With that, there was a huge clap of thunder and Holmes and Watson dashed into their hotel just as a torrential deluge of rain hit the streets of Paris.

Back in their hotel room, Holmes flopped casually onto his bed while Watson dashed to the window. "I can't see a thing, this rain's too heavy," he grumbled.

"Patience, Watson, patience."

The thunderstorm lasted five minutes. As the skies started to lighten, and the sun shone through the window once more, Watson gasped, "It's back!"

"I told you, John, it never went away."

Holmes infuriated Watson by refusing to discuss anything further about the case until the next day, when they were sitting back in their Baker Street flat having breakfast. Watson was looking at the newspapers. All of them had a huge picture of the Eiffel Tower taking up most of the front page. "The Sun and The Mirror are saying it was an alien abduction," he proffered through a mouthful of toast. Holmes snorted derisively into his coffee.

"The broadsheets are going with either the mass hypnosis claim, or hallucinatory drugs in the water supply. Are you going to tell me what the real story is, Sherlock? Or are you going to keep me in the dark to flatter your ego to even bigger proportions?"

"I don't suppose any of your newspapers cared to mention that the French government paid one hundred million euros to a certain Professor James Moriarty?"

"What? Emm… no. No mention of that whatsoever. And how would you know that?"

"A brother in high places does have its advantages sometimes."

"And he just let slip that little fact into casual conversation, did he?"

"Oh no, Mycroft never lets anything slip. But I had just provided him with a sample of Moriarty's newest invention, invisibility paint, for our scientists to analyse so I expect he was feeling rather grateful."

"Invisibility paint?"

"That's right."

"Moriarty painted the Eiffel tower and it turned invisible?"

"Well, as a broad brush explanation, it just about covers it I suppose."

"Invisibility paint?"

"Well, that's how it appears to the naked eye from a distance. I had a text from Mycroft this morning. In layman's terms, it's paint with powdered mirror fragments in it. In bright sunlight, it reflects everything around it, giving rise to the illusion that it's not actually there."

"But how could you see the tower, and no one else could?"

"I knew it had to be there, it was impossible for it not to be. It was obvious that my eyes were being tricked, but by squinting I could just about see the outline of the tower. After that, it was a bit like those Magic Eye pictures: they become clearer when you stop focussing on them."

"And the puddles?"

"I would guess they used helicopters to spray the tower. The wind from the blades would have carried some paint away, which then pooled on the ground in a few places."

"Presumably poisonous if drunk?"

"Presumably."

"Fine. I get it now. That must be why there was such a large cordon area? If people had been close, they would have seen it?"

"Bravo, John! I think you may be turning into a detective at last."

"But…"

"You have another question?"

"How did you know that it would return when it did?"

"Logic. They couldn't keep the façade going for too much longer. By eight a.m., the news helicopters would be buzzing around and the secret would be out. But they couldn't have pretended to have all the negotiations finished much before then. So eight a.m. it had to be."

"Pretended?"

"Well, influential though Jim Moriarty may be, not even he can command French troops to evacuate half of Paris without a higher authority."

"So, the French government held itself to ransom?"

"I think, rather, that a French President, keen for re-election but without the necessary funds, held the country to ransom. This then had the added benefit that he could appear to be quite the hero in returning the tower so swiftly. Could you pass the butter please?"

"Quel scandal! I guess that's the end of him then."

"Au contraire. No one knows. It was the perfect crime."

"But we know! Mycroft knows!"

"Yes, but we are discreet and Mycroft will store it away as a squirrel stores its nuts. Ready for when he needs it."

They munched away companionably for a few minutes. Watson was smiling contentedly, but then his brow started to furrow. Holmes rolled his eyes, then growled, "One more question, John. One more. You were there with me the whole time, for God's sake."

"How did they know the rain would start at exactly eight o'clock?"

"Ah, another piece of Moriarty brilliance. A missile containing silver iodide strategically sent into the atmosphere, and hey presto! Rain on command."

"Well, I never. He can do that?

"The Chinese originally developed the technology to water their crops in a drought. Moriarty must have refined the process to make it more instantaneous."

"The President must be mad to get involved with Moriarty. He destroys everyone he comes into contact with."

"Well, I guarantee that if he's not mad already, he'll be 'in Seine' before long." And with that horrendous pun, the case was most definitely closed.


End file.
